


Last Memories

by nothingisreal



Category: The Beatles
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 05:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5571997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingisreal/pseuds/nothingisreal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps he knew… He must have known. But he let John remain in oblivion. Unaware of the finality of it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Memories

**Author's Note:**

> English isn't my first language. No beta - all mistakes are mine.

John could still remember the last time so vividly as if it was yesterday. Stu’s hands tender on his back, his kisses more desperate than ever, his breath erratic next to John’s ear. Perhaps he knew… He must have known.

But he let John remain in oblivion. Unaware of the finality of it all.

_“John,” one of Stu’s hands was in John’s hair, tugging him closer in order to kiss him frantically. “Johnny… Please…”_

John reckoned that there was a point, at which experimenting stopped being a valid excuse. But he suspected they’d passed it ages ago. So he didn’t say anything about the gentleness of Stu’s touch. Neither did he question it when Stu practically begged to be fucked.

_“I need you…” Stu whispered, pulling at John’s jeans impatiently._

_John quickly pulled his trousers down and off together with his pants. “What do you want?”_

_“You,” was Stu’s reply – no hesitation or embarrassment, just pure blinding need. “I want you. Inside me.”_

The following week, Stu announced that he was staying in Hamburg. With Astrid.

_John was determined to look at anything but Stu. He lit a cigarette and leant back, the legs of his chair creaking on the rotten floor._

_He could feel Stu’s eyes on him, but he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He was certain Stu would know. If he looked into John’s eyes, he’d know everything. He’d see the rejection and hurt there. And John couldn’t allow that._

_“John,” Paul’s hand was on his shoulder and John couldn’t stop the sudden rage that burnt in his veins._

_“Fuck off.”_

_He stormed out of there. No looking back. He didn’t feel any sadness anymore. Only anger so violent, it hurt. He wouldn’t give in and admit – even to himself – how much it really hurt him. Next person to abandon him. His best friend._

They wrote letters. Stu called once. But to John it all felt forced and fake. And it hurt like hell. The reason why he and Stu became best friends in the first place was because they didn’t feel the need to pretend. John, maybe for the first time in his life, felt at ease – safe. And now that only comfort had been snatched away from him.

So he stopped writing letters. He buried all the photos under his old books. He wanted to erase all the memories he had. He wanted to pretend that Stuart Sutcliffe didn’t exist. And he almost succeeded.

Of course then Stu had to shatter what was left of John’s sanity.

_“What’re you doin’ here?” He went for indifferent, but only managed hopeful._

_“We’re just visiting.”_

_We. Earlier it’d mean Stu and John. Now it meant only Stu and Astrid. Happy. Engaged._

_“I wanted my mum to meet Astrid. Give her the good news.”_

It might have been good news to him, but for John it was pure agony. It felt like somebody had ripped his heart out and stepped on it. Didn’t Stu realise what he was doing to him? Didn’t he know John anymore? He’d noted the slight slip of Stu’s accent too.

The only familiarity was the look in Stu’s eyes, right before he left.

_They were standing behind some cafe, hidden from the prying eyes. John was leaning against the wall, studying the cracks in the pavement carefully._

_“John.”_

_Stu was much closer than John expected. Much closer than was appropriate, especially with his fucking fiancée only a wall away._

_“Don’t,” John warned, his voice cracking._

_Stu ignored him completely, as he leant in to plant a kiss on John’s lips. John wanted to grasp the back of his neck and pull him closer, he wanted to rip his clothes off and take him right then and there, he wanted to never let Stu go._

_So he shut his eyes and curled his hands into fists._

_“Bye, Johnny. Take care.”_

_His smile was dejected, but John decided not to notice it. He wanted to remain angry. He wanted to hate Stu despite his entire being refusing to do so._

It was the last time John saw Stu. Last time they spoke. John went home and Stu went to Germany and that was it.

When he learnt of Stu’s death, he burst out laughing. He was vaguely aware of somebody, probably Paul, grasping his shoulders and trying to get him to _‘fuckin’ calm down’_ before he stormed off. He needed to get away from it all. It took him some time before the thought sank in. _Stu’s dead_. But when it did, he fell apart. He wanted to scream, to break something.

Later somebody told him that he should think of the pain Astrid felt. He managed to bit back the nasty reply and only chuckled humourlessly. Astrid might have lost her fiancé, but John lost his best friend. And long before he actually died too.

Just like he lost everybody else he ever cared for. He knew the excruciating pain would transform into a dull ache. But it’d never go away entirely. To be honest, John wasn’t quite sure if he even wanted it to disappear. After all, it was the last memory of Stu he had left. So he would keep it, even if it tore him apart bit by bit.

 


End file.
